


The Foxhole Eleven

by Greenninjagal



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Aaron is Tess, Alternate Universe, Casinos, M/M, Movie: Ocean's Eleven, Pickpockets, Robbery, because I said so
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-23
Updated: 2018-10-23
Packaged: 2019-08-06 15:27:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16390301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Greenninjagal/pseuds/Greenninjagal
Summary: “No,” Kevin snapped, “Put him in the chair. I can’t get a look at him when he’s on the ground.”“That’s funny,” Neil hissed, “I thought you were used to looking down on people. You know, being Kevin fucking Day and all.”It was satisfying to hear the sharp inhale that came from the raven haired man, even if the blond shoved his head violently into the ground for it. The world went dark for only a second and pain splattered his senses like paint. By the time Neil had focused again he had been forced into one of the vacated seats and the blond was pointing his weapon impassively in his face.“You’re going to shut up,” He said.“I don’t suggest becoming a psychic; you’re really bad at it.”***aka Neil takes things that aren't his, but that isn't the same as Robbing a Casino no matter how much everyone seems to act like it is.





	The Foxhole Eleven

The Foxhole did not start out as a place for criminals to come and brag over their recent escapades, but as people got drunker in the establishment, things just happened to come out. Loudly, in fact. But after a few hours, when it became apparent that the police had not been called and were not actively trying to bust them, everyone seemed to relax a bit. Bartenders got better tips for keeping their mouth shut and pretending they heard nothing, after all.

 

Word got around after that: the Foxhole was the place to come after a heist, a hit, after any type of breaking of the law. The bar was easy to find once you knew where to look for it: on the edge of town, across town from the Police station, with the harbor barely an hour drive away, and the seeder parts of town backing it up.

 

Eventually, the owner started renting out the back rooms for business too, earning a bit of profit from villains who wanted a clean place to plan their acts. Bulletin Boards hung in the corners with cards looking for people with certain skills: hackers, hit men, enforcers.

 

Still with the increase of criminals, no one should have been surprised that the crime rate inside the building itself was increased. For the most part, it was a neutral zone.

 

No one had been killed there yet, at least.

 

But more than once a character had to be escorted out after finding out that they had been robbed of a good portion of money. It only took a week before everyone had realized that the Foxhole had a pickpocket somewhere in it. Someone quick and smart, someone who couldn’t be caught.

 

The owner of the building had put out warnings, insisting a rewards for whoever caught the thief that had drove away half the business.

 

Tuesday nights were the least crowded nights: free from the monday miseries, but still ahead of midweek drunkards. It was Tuesday that they had planned to set the trap, and on Tuesday just shy of nine o’clock the usual party showed up.

 

At ten o’clock, Neil had a gun to his head.

 

***

 

Neil Josten was a bartender, a drink runner, a liar, and most importantly not real at all. Perhaps that was why he fit so snuggly into the life working at the Foxhole. The building was full of criminals, people who talked when they were drunk and had awful, terrible things to say. Neil kept them recorded, almost a habit: surely if anyone found out who he was, he’d have something to throw back at them.

 

He wasn’t late to work-- he never was, considering the terms he was on with the owner-- but he hurried from the dark parking lot to the building like he was. The sign on the door glowed with an elaborate neon fox and the words “open” flashed invitingly. Inside was already in full swing: a party of people downing drinks and swaying to the background music. Low conversation buzzed between the tables, tense as they discussed the business of the season. The pool tables were looser, laughs and bragging by the darts.

 

He greeted his coworker, a new person that Neil had heard was only working there to save up for college. He was generic, energetic, and talkative. Neil didn't even know his name, and didn't care about it either.

 

“Matt’s group refused to be served until you got here,” the kid said, “Which sucks. They tip really well.”

 

Neil frowned, “They came back?”

 

“Oh yeah.” His co worker thumbed over his shoulder where the group was at their usual table talking casually. “I’m surprised. Especially after that Gordon guy got hit by the pickpocket? They are either brave or really stupid.”

 

Neil didn’t answer, except to shrug. It had happened last week, where the pickpocket had slipped between the group completely unnoticed and emptied Seth Gordon’s wallet of everything but his license and his car insurance card. He had nearly taken Neil’s head off with a swing of his fists, but his friends had been quick to move him out of the building before something had happened.

 

Neil did his best to look happy that they were back, but really Neil was just confused. He strolled over to their table keeping a headcount: the whole group was there. Matt noticed him almost immediately, stopping mid word to stand up and hug him--a habit which he had started doing weeks ago and Neil hadn’t been able to get him to stop.

 

“Neil! How’s it going man?” Matt was obnoxiously tall compared to Neil. He was broad shouldered, and perpetually grinning, like a golden retriever. Neil found it hard to believe that the guy was also an enforcer who hit people for fun.

 

“I’m fine, uh--ow!!” Neil said, scooting out of the hug, bumping into Seth’s chair stumbling back with half a curse. Matt looked worried for him but Neil waved him off, “You guys came back?”

 

“Of course we did!” Matt looked appalled that he’d think they wouldn’t. Neil didn’t know them all that well but he was pretty sure that even con men tended to stay away from places where they had been beaten at their own game.

 

Beside him, Dan leaned forward in her both, shaking a bit of glitter from her face. Neil knew she was an exotic stripper as a day job, and an information broker afterwards, but like with Matt her grin didn’t give a hint at her personal life. She was wearing one of Matt’s sweatshirts, and it was practically drowning her. “We love seeing you Neil.” She insisted.

 

Seth was across the table from them, and stubbornly ignoring Neil. He was leaning back in the chair like an asshole asking for the chair to slip from under him. He was a talkative person on a good day, but Neil could imagine he wanted to burn the entire place to the ground after the humiliation of last week. Personally Neil thought he deserved it for his lack of manners, his sneer, his verbal abuse of basically everyone, but really he left his wallet unchecked for hours and that was just asking for it to be robbed.

 

Allison scoffed beside her boyfriend-- or not boyfriend, Neil had trouble keeping up on what they were at any given moment-- and tapped her manicured nails on the table. She was the flashiest of them, always dressed to the nines when Neil saw her. She was a lawyer because that was what her parents wanted to be, but her true skills rested in her acting and makeup. Neil hadn’t seen her do either, but the other’s talked about the times she wore a disguise and convinced them she was an entirely different person for hours at a time.

 

“Neil, what are you _wearing_?” Allison huffed at him. She seemed visibly offended by his outfit: the black long sleeve shirt with the Foxhole T-shirt over it and his half apron which he hadn’t gotten around to washing yet so it still smelled like alcohol and was discolored in several places. His jeans had holes in the knees and his shoes were so worn the color, whatever color it had been, was gone.

 

“The uniform,” Neil answered like he always did. He used to wondered why they had to have this conversation each time, but he caught her sharp grin, and realized he kinda like it. It was like their own sort of predictability, a greeting.

 

Renee laughed quietly, almost unheard under the murmur of the conversations. She was...well Neil wasn’t sure. Of all the people in the group, Renee made him the most uncomfortable. She was an enigma: quiet, happy, and pleasant, but Neil always felt like she was hiding something dark and sinister underneath. He could guess a lot about her: she went to church every Sunday morning and Wednesday night, she dyed her hair every month or so, to keep the fluttering rainbow bright. She was the deterrent when anyone tried to pick a fight-- going as far as to stand between Seth and Neil when Seth had accused Neil of being the pickpocket last week.

 

Beyond that, whenever the group discussed their plans they were frustratingly vague about her part in them. Dan and Matt just called it _the thing._ As in, “well if Seth and Matt take down the guys here and here, then Renee can come in and do _the thing_.” More than once Neil had wondered if it he even wanted to know.

 

“Any reason you’re trying to throw my coworker into a frenzy tonight?” Neil asked, “If you keep this up, they’ll think you pick favorites.”

 

“I will blatantly declare my love for you, Neil,” Matt said, “if that’s what it takes for you to understand you are my favorite bartender here.”

 

“Can we just get some fucking drinks now?” Seth snapped, he faced Neil with an irritated look, “I’m surprised you aren’t fired yet.”

 

“I’m surprised you came back,” Neil shot back.

 

“Fuck you, we’re catching that asshole tonight.” Seth snarled at Neil, who merely raised an eyebrow.

 

“What?”

 

Dan, looking embarrassed, motioned to the posters that marred the inside of the bar. It had a warning of the pickpocket, as well as the assurance of a hefty reward for the criminal who caught him and turned him into the owner of the store. Neil didn’t think the price was that good: the pickpocket made more in a night than the reward for him would be, but he kept that to himself.

 

Already he had taken several worthwhile bribes on what he knew of the other workers, and pocketed the money for his next plane flight. Not that he would tell anyone about it: one day he’d be here and the next he’d be gone, like a ghost. It was ingrained in him to never stay in the same place, never let anyone get too close, always be the smartest one in the room.

 

It was part of surviving, it was part of living.

 

Sometimes he thought about sticking around, of staying as Neil Josten in the nobody town and serving drinks to people who lived the life he could have had. Criminals, every single one of them, but there was something freeing about being a ghost who didn’t have to listen to any rules but his own.

 

“The pickpocket?” Neil echoed, trying not to sound as worried as he was, “Why would you need to go after him? Didn’t you guys get the money you needed for your heist weeks ago?”

 

Neil wasn’t close to them, but everyone probably knew about the anonymous donation that they had received from mysterious owner of the Foxhole. Somehow he had heard of their plans to rob the Hell out of a jewlers a few towns over, and had decided to finance over half of their escapade via an envelope of untraceable cash delivered by Neil himself. Dan’s face when she opened it was pretty great, and Renee had called it a miracle from God. (Which Neil found extremely strange because they were breaking laws and he was pretty sure no God would want to endorse that.)

 

The owner had said he’d get his payment back his own way, which fit his mysterious personality. Neil could count on one hand the number of people who knew the owners name, much less his face. Neil knew both, and he kept it to himself, like a good bartender and liar.

 

“Yeah, but this is our way of giving back to the owner,” Matt said. “Since you won't tell us anything about him.” There was something accusatory in the way he said that but Neil pretended to be innocent. “We figured we just take care of his pickpocket problem.”

 

Neil couldn’t speak for the owner so he asked for their drinks instead.

 

“The usual, for all of us,” Matt said. “You should know that by now!”

 

Neil waved him off turning to Renee, “Water again? Or soda?”

 

“Water’s fine Neil.” She smiled at him, her eyes sparkling, “Thank you.”

 

Really, it was almost offensive that they thought they could catch the pickpocket. The thief had managed to go unnoticed for weeks and here they were after already having been bested, just asking for their stuff to be taken. They must have set up a trap or something. Neil knew it wasn’t safe.

 

But it didn’t stop him from slipping Seth wallet from his sleeve to his pocket when he was back behind the counter.

 

He took his time making their drinks and delivering them back to them, but Seth still looked eerily confident when he reached their table again. He had no clue that Neil had nicked his wallet right out of his back pocket when he had “tripped” out of Matt’s hug earlier.

 

He went through the motions of serving the other guests. Everyone knew by now he was a clumsy waiter. He had spent his first few days tripping over chairs and people and dropping drinks and food. He had gotten better, but the customers that had been there the longest still made sure to move their belongings when he carried trays. If they noticed a watch had gone missing, or their flashiest rings had disappeared, they didn’t make a fuss.

 

Neil greeted the newcomers, but he was distracted by the wallet in his pocket still, wondering what lovely trap he’d have to overcome before he got to throw it back in Seth’s face. He’d hate to lose Matt and Dan and maybe even Allison, but if it was that or his secret, he’d gladly keep the latter.

 

Neil was sure he hadn’t seen the two at the table before, but there was something about them that was familiar-- as if Neil had seen them both before. The first was tall, green eyed and distracted. He kept looking around the bar as if the police were going to come crashing in and arrest him. His friend kicked him in the shin when he took too long to answer Neil’s question.

 

“Vodka,” He said, “Shots.”

 

Neil nodded and turned to his friend, a short, blond guy with hazel eyes like daggers. He leveled Neil with a bored look. The tall man didn’t have a wallet on him at all, but the shorter one was watching Neil too closely for him to even think about risking it. Plus the guy was wearing a sidearm and that was always a good reason to steer clear.

 

“Go on,” The blond said, “Make the drinks.”

 

Neil hadn’t even set down his tray before the tall raven haired boy was throwing back a shot glass. In the dim lighting Neil could only cringe slightly at the implication. Whoever this was, they were going to be running them dry on vodka tonight.

 

It wasn’t until Neil was back behind the counter, that he realized who exactly was sitting in his bar.

 

He dropped the glass he was holding.

 

Tall, green eyed, and raven haired Kevin Day was draining shots like they were water. Neil should have recognized him sooner, but the Number Two on his cheek had been covered over with foundation, and the bags under his eyes hidden with a clever use of makeup. He didn’t look like the man who had gone to prison either: he looked like a shadow of the man who had been the forefront of the papers until he had been sentenced to a year of prison for corporate espionage.

 

Ever since the building of the Raven King Casino, Kevin Day and Riko Moriyama had been running the business and spreading their influence across the country. They had just opened up their third casino when the tabloids had caught wind that Kevin had been caught funneling money from their partnership into a private fund for a competing casino series. Further investigation had revealed that he had also been about to sell out combination codes for the vault in the casino.

 

Neil hadn’t realized that Kevin’s sentence had ended, but he knew that if Kevin was here, Riko would follow. Neil could deal with a lot, but he’d rather run than give either of them a chance to recognize him. Dyed hair and colored contacts could only do oh-so-much.

 

“Neil, man, are you okay?” His coworker asked, “Dude, you’re bleeding!”

 

Neil hadn’t even noticed. The Adrenalin in his veins made it hard to think of anything other than his mother hissing _Run, Run, Run!_ The broken glass had sliced down his thumb, but it wasn’t too deep. Still he muttered a curse under his breath, as he tried to pick up the pieces. He didn’t have the time to be dealing with this.

 

“Dude, leave it.” His coworker insisted, “Go clean that out in the bathrooms. I got this.”

 

Neil stared at him until the other boy gave him a nudge towards the restrooms in the back of the store. He should be taking advantage of this: using it to leave early, close the store and disappear into the air like had planned to. In fact if Seth was carrying as much as he had been last time, Neil would finally have enough to by all the new documents he needed when he started over in England.

 

So Neil, took a deep breath, grabbed his duffel bag, and slipped into the restroom. It was well-kept because he had kept it that way. It was part of his job to make sure the restroom was clean at all times. He ran his hand under the lukewarm water, biting back the wince that came with putting pressure on the wound.

 

He didn’t pay much mind to the other guy in the bathroom as he unzipped his bag and managed to remove the emergency bandages he kept in there.

 

“Whoa, what happened?” The guy asked.

 

“Dropped a glass.”

 

“Sucks.” The guy left without washing his hands.

 

Neil flexed his thumb checking that it wasn’t too tight. The pain was bearable, it wasn’t bleeding through too badly, and he could still move it, therefore he was fine. He used his other hand to scoop water from the faucet to clean the drops of blood  off the counter.

 

When he was done he stared at his reflection in the mirror. He looked a bit like he was going to drop dead at any given moment. There was a gauntness to his face that had come from so many years on the run. Even after having settled here, he found it hard to stick to one schedule. His nightmares had been gathering force, driving him to the bar to pick up another shift or pushing him into early morning and late night runs. He ate more than he used to now, but he didn’t think he was gaining any weight with his new routine.

 

His hair was still dark brown, his roots still dyed from when he had checked that morning. His eyes were still the unassuming dark color. He kept himself just plain enough that no one would even think he was hiding something behind them.

 

He hesitated, glancing towards the public door to the restroom, before he quietly slipped over and locked the already closed door. Then he set to work emptying his pockets.

 

He dumped his total two watches, three rings and one diamond necklace directly into his duffel bag. He could fence them tomorrow, before he left, before anyone could suspect he was going to disappear. He had three wallets from three unsuspecting targets. He knew Seth’s by the fold of it and put it to the side. The other two had maybe fifty dollars cash in each, more on the credit cards that he had no interest in keeping. He knew where to sell them to people who were better at hacking into banks than he was. He threw all of it into his duffel and then the remaining leather wallets were washed in the sink and tossed in the underneath a mountain of paper towels.

 

He didn’t have much time before someone would come looking to use the bathroom. Neil only let himself paused for a moment, trying to keep his head clear before he set about whatever trap might be set on the wallet.

 

He examined the outside carefully, but Neil couldn’t see any signs of a trigger, or a clutch hidden on the outside. Neil turned it away from him and opened it.

 

Nothing happened. Neil waited a beat, scanning the inside with the mirror. Seth hadn’t replaced his credit card since Neil had last stolen them, but he did have his license and a Free Ice Cream coupon at Sweeties. Neil wasn’t all that worried though, Seth dealt with most hard cash from his cage fighting past times.

 

The only thing Neil could think was that they tripped it with a GPS signal to find the pickpocket after he left with the wallet, or that they were confident in their abilities to watch each other’s back. Neil wasn’t sure where his paranoia had turned into panic, because rationally he knew he still had time before Riko could be here, still had time before Kevin recognized him.

 

But he could feel his mother breathing down his neck, her fingers carting roughly through his hair and her nail’s nearly breaking skin. She had told him, not to get attached, not to stay, not to invest. He should have listened to her, but here he was, paranoid with a metaphorical timer now ticking over his head in a bathroom that had no other exits except the drains. Neil was small but not that small.

 

What he needed was to ditch Seth’s wallet and leave. So he opened the side pocket were all the cash would be.

 

He wasn’t expecting it to explode.

 

Neil dropped the wallet in a second cursing under his breath and staggering away from the object. There had been a flash of light, a popping sound, and then Neil was covered in paint. He rushed back to the sink trying to wash it off his hands but he already knew what would happen.

 

Because it wasn’t just _paint._ It was dye. Someone had tripped Seth’s wallet with a dye pack like the ones used at the goddamn _banks._

 

Neil had robbed a bank once, with his mother. She had told him all about it before they had gone in and committed the last big scale crime he had ever done. The packs were nearly impossible to remove without triggering, but most of the time they were only trigger through sensors on the bank doors. This one must have been made especially for Seth’s wallet and as furious as Neil was with the game, he realized they must all have trapped their wallets.

 

So they’d just have to look for the asshole who was covered in bright red dye.

 

Neil looked at his reflection carefully taking note. He stepped back. Seth might have been a bust, but he could still sell what he had from the other tables. He could even leech from the store. All he had to do was get out of the Foxhole without anyone calling him on it.

 

He was lucky in a way-- the foolish lucky way. He had the wallet at just an angle that it had missed his face and neck over looking a few spots he didn’t think anyone would notice in the dim lighting of the bar area. His clothes were toast though, the long sleeve shirt and the employee polo he wore over it were visibly covered. But that was okay, Neil had more shirts, and pants.

 

His shoes were another issue: faded converse that he had kept since forever were both splattered like he had gone jumping in a puddle of blood. Neil took a deep breath and then slid his shoes off. He approached the dying wallet, which had since drown in a pool of the rest of the dye that was slowly leaking across the bathroom floor. Anyone would have thought someone had been brutally stabbed. He crouched near the puddle and gently pressed his shoes into the dye until he had the entire pair colored. If it hadn’t been for the tiny parts where the dye had splatter on his tread, they would have looked like they came right off the line. Neil let them dry for a second before stripping off his entire outfit and pulling another one from his duffle.

 

He couldn’t do much about the amount that was on his hands. Even the hand he had just bandaged was coated in it which he replaced for all the good it did; he couldn’t tell his own blood from the dye. Neil clicked his tongue, and gently pulled out his sweatshirt. He only had it for the colder days, but even then he only wore it when it was necessary: the bright orange tended to attract looks, but it was the only one that was near his size at the thrift store.

 

It was bulky too, made for someone with longer arms. It covered his hands.

 

Neil balled up his ruined clothes in the trashcan along with Seth’s dripping wallet. He emptied the paper towel dispenser. Then he broke into the toilet paper dispenser and used half a roll of that too. He left the puddle. There was no use cleaning it up when it would just dye him in the end. He slipped on his shoes and paced the small bathroom to get rid of any lingering glops of paint on the soles. And then hoping that he smelled less like a walking can of paint and more like a guy who had just cut his hand open on a glass and needed to take the rest of the shift off, he unlocked the bathroom door, took a deep breath, and then Neil slipped out.

 

The bar was just how he had left it. A check at the clock on the wall said it hadn’t even been ten minutes. He waved to his coworker who frowned but nodded like he expected this. Then Neil did his best to get across the room to the door without being seen by anyone at Matt’s table.

 

He had spent years sifting through crowds of people without them noticing at all, but he must have lost his edge because he barely got a couple steps before Matt called out his name. (Or it was just his bright orange sweatshirt.)

 

“Neil!” Matt called. He appeared startled for such a big guy, “I thought you just got in? What happened?”

 

Neil winced shaking his one hand to most the sleeve so Matt could see the bandage around his hand, praying that his fingers didn’t make the dye too obvious. “I cut my hand pretty bad.” He explained, “But I’m fine, I swear.”

 

He didn’t hold his breath, but he didn’t exactly breathe until he saw the surprise in Matt’s face warp into worry. As long as he thought it was blood on Neil, Matt wouldn’t even consider the pickpocket was standing right in front of him. Neil’s motto, _always be the smartest man in the room_ rattled in his head.

 

“Oh my god, man,” Matt sucked in a sharp breath at the sight of the wound, “You’re going to the hospital right? Tell me you’re going to the hospital. I’m going to drive you to the hospital. Dan-!”

 

Neil was still stuttering excuses when Dan appeared by his side with a sharper eye. “I’ll grab a ride with Renee and Allison,” she said.

 

“I’m really fine!” Neil insisted. “It just looks bad, I swear!”

 

“Neil it’s all the way down your arm!”

 

“I’m fine!”

 

“I don’t think you know what that word means.”

 

Neil glanced back at their table. Allison and Seth were in an argument, but Renee was watching them with her calculating gaze. When their eyes met she offered a tiny flick of her lips, an almost smile. It was cut short as Seth stood up, swearing checking his seat and the table for a wallet that wasn’t there.

 

Neil tried for a smile at Dan and Matt, but he was sure he failed. “I’m good guys. I promise! I’ll see you next Tuesday, right?”

 

He had no intention of still being here by then, but it seemed to quell both their nerves. Neil turned away, and made it one step.

 

“Wait Neil, what’s on your neck--”

 

Neil didn’t give Dan a chance to finish.

 

He twisted away from her and dived around the table. Allison yelled something, but Neil was fast sliding underneath a pool table nearby. He rolled to his feet and bolted towards the door. The customers were a mix of surprised and confused but they hurried to get out of his way-- because Neil was moving faster than the yells of Matt’s group could be comprehended. He pushed a customer who was just a second too slow to move, knocking them into a table without feeling bad about it.

 

He didn’t even see the stool until it was too late. It came skidding at his feet, and he was moving too fast to slow, much less _stop._ Neil went slamming to the ground, in a tumble of curses and orange. His knees and elbows yelped in pain but he barely registered it; he was scrambling to pick himself back up when a foot slammed into his back and pinned him to the ground with the last of his breath.

 

Then something all too familiar pressed to his temple: Neil would never forget the feel of a gun against his skin.

 

“Stay down, Rabbit.” The blond boy who had been with Kevin told him.

 

“I prefer Fox,” Neil gritted his teeth, but he didn’t dare move. He knew what a gunshot could do; he had seen it so many times. His mother teaching him how to use one, his mother ripping a bullet from his side telling him to be quiet because he was lucky it hadn’t hit something that couldn’t be stitched up, his mother cupping his check with a hand slathered in blood from her own bullet would, his mother dead in the passenger side because of a bullet.

 

“Shut up,” the other boy said, then over his shoulder, “Well?”

 

Neil’s stomach dropped as Kevin came into his view squatting to get a better look at Neil. He was still shaking slightly, but now he was confident, with a determined gleam in his eyes. “I can work with this.”

 

Somewhere amidst the confusion and the yelling and the cursing and bleeding, a clock struck ten.

 

****

 

For future reference, Neil noted, the best way to empty a bar full of criminals was to tell one of the working waiters to call the cops. It struck Neil as pathetic that one on comment from a particularly short and angry blond _kid_ could send patrons running out of the buildings almost without their belongings at all.

 

The blond boy didn’t move, not even an inch. Neil only tried to push him off once more, and got nothing more than a sharp jab in the side of his head with the muzzle of the gun in his hand. He was completely unphased by the slur of curses that Neil threw at him afterwards.

 

He couldn’t help the panic rising in his chest. He could _see_ the goddamn doors-- doors he had cleaned just yesterday, doors he locked with the weighted key in his pocket so many times before, doors that had he hadn’t meant to be sentimental about but hear he was wanted to strangle his coworker who neatly leapt the counter to locked them after enough of the regular customers had been scared away.

 

Neil’s coworker, who’s name was conveniently escaping Neil at the moment frowned when he turned around, “Couldn’t we have done this any other way?”

 

“No,” Kevin snapped, “Put him in the chair. I can’t get a look at him when he’s on the ground.”

 

“That’s funny,” Neil hissed, “I thought you were used to looking down on people. You know, being Kevin _fucking_ Day and all.”

 

It was satisfying to hear the sharp inhale that came from the raven haired man, even if the blond shoved his head violently into the ground for it. The world went dark for only a second and pain splattered his senses like paint. By the time Neil had focused again he had been forced into one of the vacated seats and the blond was pointing his weapon impassively in his face.

 

“You’re going to shut up,” He said.

 

“I don’t suggest becoming a psychic; you’re really bad at it.”

 

He made a show of switching off his safety, his eyes narrowing an inch to match the twitch of his lips. He didn’t have the bloodlust of a killer in his eyes, but he was just as dangerous. Neil reflectively dug his nails into the wood of the barstool. He tried to remember the last time he had faced down a gun like this; it wasn’t as long ago as he wanted it to be.

 

Behind the blond and his gun, Kevin was rubbing his cheek smearing the makeup covering his tattoo, probably without meaning too. It was only then that Neil noticed Matt and his friends were still there too-- Matt in particular looked like a disappointed parent.

 

Allison had her arms crossed but for once the red on her nails truly looked like blood to him. She seemed murderous as Seth was beside her, but Renee was standing between both of them and Neil as a collected wall of defense.

 

“Kevin,” The blond said, “start talking or I will be forced to blow the stupid look off his face.”

 

“That would be a shame,” Neil’s coworker inserted, “He’s got the cutest face.”

 

Neil didn’t think he hid his flinch as well as he could have, but he hardly cared at this point. They weren’t-- they couldn’t be agents from his father. Kevin would never have teamed up with anyone from that line of work, and quite honestly Neil’s father’s men didn’t usually hesitate on shooting him. But only one person had ever called him cute: right before she had dragged her knives through his torso and told him she loved the way he screamed.

 

_“Kevin,”_ The blond hissed again.

 

Kevin Day jerked at his tone, tearing his hand from his cheek and instead picking at the cuff of his suit with all the finesse of a businessman about throw a sales pitch.

 

“What is your name?” He started.

 

“No,” Neil answered.

 

“It’s Neil,” Dan said, rubbing her temples, “Josten.” She leveled him a pointed look, “Can you just listen?”

 

Neil considered it for a moment, because it was _Dan_ and Dan usually only tried to look out for him, despite him not wanting and not needing her too. But then he remembered that her and Matt were part of the reason he was in the mess and he decided against it. Beside he had known better, he really had. He shouldn’t have stayed after he recognized Kevin, not even to open his wallets, not to tell his coworker he needed to leave. That same coworker was teetering on the edge of his vision, nervous like he wasn't sure what to do in a room full of criminals holding someone at gunpoint.

 

“Neil,” Kevin repeated the name like it was a foreign word. Neil’s stomach rolled. It was clear that Kevin didn’t recognize him-- and Neil tried to tell his obnoxiously beating heart that it had been too long, he looked too different, they hadn’t cared about him that much-- but that still didn’t mean Kevin never would. It didn’t mean that word would never get back to Riko that he was here, alive, and it didn’t mean that his past wouldn’t catch up to him when he was still a thousand US dollars short of a ticket out of the country.

 

“I’m about to make you an offer of a lot of money. You have exactly one minute to decide if you are in or out, Neil.” Kevin said.

 

“Excuse me?” Neil said. “Money for what?”

 

Kevin’s green eyes gave him a rather condescending look.

 

“Stealing?” Neil guessed, which wasn’t much of a guess, because they thought he was just a pickpocket, a thief. His eyes skimmed the room, jumping from the blond and his gun, Kevin, to Matt, Dan and Renee. The only ones who had any sort of emotion on them were Allison and Seth both who looked irritated that Neil wasn’t dead yet.

 

“Forty seconds,” The blond said, “Tick Tock, Josten. Are you in or out?”

 

He said it like a challenge, like he knew Neil was going to say no, and that this whole production had been worthless. What could they possibly want with him? Something that no one else in the building could get? Not Matt with his strength, Seth with his intimidation, Allison with her ruses or Renee with her “thing”.

 

“How much money are we talking?” Neil asked before he could stop himself.

 

Without missing a beat Kevin said, “16 million US dollars per person.”

 

That….that was more than Neil thought he was going to say. That was enough for Neil to disappear completely. Forever this time. There were seven of them standing here, eight if you counted the bartender Neil had been working with, and nine with Neil. That meant the payout was a gross $144 million.

 

“Twenty seconds” The blond said.

 

A long time ago, when Neil and his mother had robbed a bank she had told him lots of things. Like how banks were required to have cash money in their vaults for withdrawal purposes. Smaller banks didn’t have a required amount, but for this many people to be involved, it had to be a bigger bank: the kind that would be required to have at least fifty thousand. Neil ran all the banks he knew, all the ones his mother and him had once looked at to rob. None of them would come close to a payout that big unless it was the US treasury itself.

 

“Ten Seconds.”

 

Unless it wasn’t a bank they were trying to rob.

 

“Nine.” The blond’s grin was sharp, too sharp, “Eight.”

 

A casino would be close though. Nearly ninety million on an average weekend.

 

“Seven.”

 

On a big event weekend they would need more on hand. Neil estimated around the 150 million mark easy.

 

“Six.”

 

Neil stared at them all with a sudden, horrific understanding. “You can’t be serious! You’re all crazy!”

 

The blond stopped counting with a raised eyebrow.

 

“You’re going to try and rob Riko Moriyama.” Neil said, then turned to Kevin, because obviously he had to be calling the shots and making the plan, and he couldn't think of another Casino that would be a target,  _“Again?_ What was getting thrown and jail once not enough? You know he drags anyone who even thinks of _strip mining_ through hell _._ If he catches you guys he will _kill_ you! _”_

 

“You’re concern is touching. Now answer the fucking question.” The blond did a slight shrug, “Unless you’re going to keep running away like the rabbit you are, Neil Josten.”

 

“I’m not running away!” Neil lied. He felt like he was burning up under the heavy press of the orange sweatshirt. There was no way-- no way that he was going to get himself tangled up in the corporate web that was the Moriyama’s. Not after everything his mother had done to get him away from it. “I’m living!”

 

“Let me spell this out for you, Rabbit.” The blond said again, “Living is the not the same thing as surviving. You’re a petty thief Neil Josten, only stealing things that can be replaced without much hassle. What does the average night get you? Two hundred? Three? Either you’re a kleptomaniac or that isn’t getting you to the next work night, because you just keep coming back.”

 

Neil said nothing, but he was right. Neil was just barely getting by. Without dipping into the store profit he was fencing just about anything he could get his hands on.

 

The blond looked delighted that he finally found a way to shut Neil up. “Tell me you couldn’t use sixteen million.”

 

It was on the tip of his tongue, it really was. He hated to admit it-- he didn’t even want to _think_ it. But the blonde was almost right. Living and Surviving were two totally different things. But Neil’s mother, who taught him to hold a gun, told him never to trust anyone, killed without hesitation so Neil could get this far, had only ever focused on surviving.

 

Neil wasn’t sure what living meant, or if that was something he could even pretend to know how to do.

 

“I don’t need Sixteen million.” Neil said.

 

Kevin-- of course it was Kevin-- gave him a breezy look, “But do you want it?”

 

Neil thought he wanted it so bad he could taste it. Despite the years that Neil had practiced hiding the look on his face, masking his emotions, and building an illusion that others would interpret, it must have shown on his face.

 

The blonde lowered his gun, with a brief look of disappointment, “What a shame.” He said, “I was looking forward to burying your body.”

 

“He’s in?” The bartender asked cluelessly.

 

“He’s in,” Kevin confirmed.

 

Matt and Dan high fived, “Yes! Pay up Seth!”

 

Seth scowled darkly, and pulled a money clip from his front pocket. Had Neil been paying more attention at the beginning of the night he might have noticed it before he had stolen the wallet.

 

“I don’t see why we need him,” Seth said, “What good is a pickpocket when we figured out who he was after one night? Fuck-- I’m twenty short--”

 

“For the record, I only got caught because you played by different rules.” Neil said, “Here, I think there’s twenty in there.” He tossed a wallet at the other man.

 

“Whose wallet is this?”

 

Neil grinned, flashing the drivers’ license he pulled from it. “A forgery?” He hummed glancing up at the blonde, “Either, you can’t drive or your name’s not Andrew Minyard.”

 

The bar was stone cold silent. Andrew stared at him hard, with a fire in his eyes that rivaled his mother’s right before she had died. Kevin’s eyes widened oh-so-dramatically. Seth dropped the wallet like it was on fire, and even Allison with her fearless attitude backed away from it. Renee pressed several fingers over her lips in a frown.

 

Neil flicked the card at the gun wielding, short, blond man and stood up from his seat. “Don’t wave guns in my face.”

 

Andrew’s lips twitched, into something that was as much a smile as it was a threat. “On second thought, Day, I think we can do this job with only ten of us.”

 

“We can’t,” Kevin told him in a strained voice, “Riko knows our faces.”

 

Andrew didn’t look at him, his eyes never left Neil, “Well then, we better get him to Wymack before he disappears on us.”

 

That seemed to be everyone’s cue to start moving out. The other bartender, tossed down his rag and jumped the counter. “Oh thank god. I hate this place.”

 

Neil should have been offended, because he liked the bar among other things. But his mind was preoccupied, “Eleven?” He said. “There’s nine of us here, ten including your Wymack---who’s the last?”

 

Andrew ignored him, completely this time. However the bartender was ready for that. “You’d like her, Neil. She’s British and likes to blow things up. _And_ she’s not in it for money, which means more for the rest of us. I’m Nicky, by the way.”

 

“Not in it for money?” Neil repeated, “What does she get out of it?”

 

Nicky shrugged, “She’s under some kind of delusion that Andrew is going to let her have Aaron if she helps him this one time.”

 

“Aaron?”

 

Matt stepped up behind him and put a hand on his shoulder, “We should go.”

 

“Who’s Aaron?”

 

“Oh Neil,” Andrew said, mockingly, “Don’t get caught up in the details. Your little rabbit brain will explode.”

 

“Aaron is Andrew’s twin brother.” Nicky said, “He’s Riko’s personal secretary.”

 

“He’s a dumbass.” Andrew said, as he knelt down and picked up both his wallet and his fake drivers license.

 

Neil felt his stomach do a tiny flip. He wasn’t one to get cold feet, but his mother had always made certain that they left their emotions at the door before they committed a crime. Between Kevin and Riko, and now Aaron and Andrew, Neil had a sneaking suspicion that this plot was not going to be worth the sixteen million, and definitely not worth whatever Riko would concoct should any of them be caught. (And death was more preferable than having Riko Moriyama recognize him.)

 

“Come along, Neil.” Andrew said, in a tone Neil was beginning to truly hate, “There are casinos to rob and bratty billionaires to publicly humiliate.”


End file.
